


A Moment

by FloodFeSTeR



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Possessive Sex, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: Because the Dread Wolf did take her, right above the heads of every noble in Orlais.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	A Moment

" _Fuck_ _._ "

It is barely a whisper, and yet it echoes against the walls, not loud enough to be heard by the chattering nobles drooling into their wine, but it is enough. His hand comes over her mouth and he pulls her, her back against his chest, the brush of their clothes fast and frantic. Her cheeks are hot against his fingers, possibly to the point of discomfort, but he relishes the display.

* * *

_"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live."_

_He_ was _pleased, because the Anchor was burning fresh and bright on her hand, her mind completely ignorant to the power she wielded._

_He would wait, he would bide his time, steer this Inquisition to continue his path, even if it meant putting her in harms way._

_He just wanted the Anchor._

* * *

The bell tolls somewhere in the ballroom, but it hardly reaches their ears; her soft, muffled pants, her nails scraping against the railing. Below them, the nobles laugh and discuss the latest gossip, many of it hitting their ears, and it does distract him, if only to momentarily disgust him before something in her tightens around him and he sinks his teeth into the tender slope of her neck.

He can feel her lips part beneath his fingers, a strangled gasp coming out as her right hand comes up to nearly claw at his wrist. He grins against her skin, tasting soft copper on his tongue, and she writhes beneath him. This was not his plan - well, not this _exactly_. He had felt the need growing inside of him, when he watched her spew flames from her fingertips, when she twirled the Mark around with the mastery of a millennia of training, and Fen'Harel had always. . .taken what he wanted.

It seemed natural, yes?

* * *

_She was brighter in the Fade, even with the bland background of Haven, he knew she was special to this place with the way the magic shimmered around her, wisps gliding through her hair where she could not see them - but he could. He kissed her there, unable to help himself, knowing it was a mistake, no matter how his mind justified the action of wrapping her into his arms; his sense tried reasoning he was manipulating her, getting close to throw off suspicion, it was all a lie to convince himself that he had not deviated from his goal._

_But she was there, a pillar of shimmering reds and golds, orange tucked between the folds, and he had only seen such dangerous beauty in the past, when the Fade bled through the realm and it was all one._

* * *

His hand clenches around her mouth once, sliding down to her throat as she gives a struggling gasp, her body moving against his, her feet slipping on the floor as he hunches over her, tightening his grasp on her hip to the point of bruising. She whispers his name, her body limp and pliable to him - _Solas_. . .it is like the sigh of the water, or the gentle vibration he can feel when the fade tears open in front of them. It spurs him on, pulling her down to the floor with him, easily maneuvering her on top of him so he watch the pink hue of her cheeks through her hair as it falls across her shoulder.

When she throws her head back, his eyes narrow and cloud over, sending a look of quick apprehension over her face, but then she is grasping at his chest, chanting his name beneath her breath like it is some holy song one learns in the Chantry - what a blasphemous thought, their Herald having a vicious quickie with an Elvhen god literally _feet_ above their heads.

Solas wonders who can hear when he turns her over, pushing her face into the marble, his hands cupping the small of her back as he loses himself in her, the grunts she makes, the groan when she bites into her hand so hard it draws blood that smears across the soft grey and white stone.

The contrast is divine.

"If it is the Duke and that white haired _slip_ , the Empress is going to have his head." A shiver goes down his spine at the voices, still far, but the echoes grew closer.

"Is she the new _flavor of the week_ ," it is said with disdain from another man. "Lying with an elven slave, how low can you sink?"

Solas pulls back, seeing the light of a candlestick bouncing across the walls - _not now_.

But her nails dig into the top of his hand before he can pull it from her hip, and when he looks down she is glaring at him vehemently through her tousled hair, chest swelling for air, golden eyes trapping him. "If you stop," she growled. "I will kill you." It is not a mere threat, but a promise, and one that offers no time for hesitation from him. 

He swats her hand away roughly and threads his fingers into her hair, jerking her back against his chest but refusing to kiss her in favor of nearly pummeling her into the floor. Her pants and gasps were growing louder with each hard thrust against her, his own gasps mingling, exciting him even more until his hand smothers her moan, his face buried into her hair as he trembles and groans.

He wants to bask in this moment, but Solas can hear their steps now, the guards that definitely heard them at some point, and they cannot find the Inquisitor like this no matter how much the the idea dares him to linger, so they move quickly and try to gather themselves, slipping around the book shelves and letting their steps get lost in the mixed sounds of gossip and the toll of the third bell.


End file.
